


Wicked Game

by malignantillustrator (Vaud)



Series: Broken Promises For Broken Hearts [1]
Category: Uncharted (Video Games)
Genre: Antagonism, Canon Compliant, Denial of Feelings, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Rope Bondage, Roughness, Slow Burn, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-25
Updated: 2016-10-05
Packaged: 2018-07-26 14:10:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7576987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vaud/pseuds/malignantillustrator
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rafe wants Sam, but doesn't want to admit it. Sam wants Rafe, but can't stop bruising his ego. Whoops.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> What started as an attempt at a one shot smut for a friend turned into a borderline slow burn, and now I'm along for the ride. Thanks, muses.

They hadn't made this much progress in months, and now Rafe was practically giddy. His body vibrated with nervous energy. Anticipation. His eyes flicked to Sam, shifting across his broad shoulders, the muscles of his back flexing under his snug shirt as he maneuvered the stones. Unconsciously, he licked his lips, and a rough chuckle from the man brought him from his reverie. He felt his face heat just a touch. "What is it?" He demanded, his tone harder than he meant it to be.

"See for yourself," Sam replied, turning to meet his gaze. One corner of his mouth lifted in a smirk that Rafe felt was too smug, too knowing for his own good.

He stepped forward, brushing Sam aside to eye the apparatus his partner had been manipulating. "Avery's sigil," he whispered, excitement sweeping away his annoyance.

"Yeah, and look here." Sam has moved in close, leaning around him to tap one long fingertip on a pictograph. Rafe could feel the warmth of Sam's proximity at his back, smell him; cigarettes, perspiration, and something masculine that was the man's own scent...

"Do you mind?!" He snapped half turning and taking a step away. Feeling immediately bereft and curling his lip in a sneer at his own ridiculousness.

"Not really, no," Sam replied, taking the cigarette from behind his ear and tucking it between his lips. "Sorry to interrupt the master at work," such sarcasm. "Go ahead." He turned, lighting his smoke and wandering away, eyes shifting around the cave.

Rafe watched him, for longer than he meant to. Damn the man. How did he manage to be so distracting? He turned back to the apparatus, worrying his lip with his teeth. "A crucifix," he muttered.

"No, actually," Sam answered casually from the other side of the chamber, "that's St. Dismas."

"Avery's Cross," Rafe turned to look at him, and found Sam eyeing him up and down. "But that was a dead end, remember?"

"Yeah, it was broken. But, there's another," Sam tapped ash from his cigarette and lifted it to his mouth.

"Another cross?! How do you figure?" Rafe forced himself to look at the pictographs again, annoyed that Sam was so much better at puzzling this shit out. But that was why he kept him around, wasn't it?

"Don't worry, I'll find it. Are you done lookin'?"

"You sound pretty sure of yourself," Rafe lingered, tracing the inscription with manicured fingertips. "What's your hurry?"

"Oh, you know. Things to see, people to do."

That got his attention. Rafe's back stiffened and he turned with exaggerated slowness. "Well, don't let me keep you," he answered, heavy on the sarcasm. Sam's dark eyes were too knowing by far. He scowled and pushed past him out of the cave.

 

 

The Scottish Highlands were a far cry from Panama, in more ways than one. Despite the snow crusted ridges and wind that cut through your clothes to the bone, Sam spent more time than not out of doors. Of course his fingers were going numb enough that he'd dropped no few unfinished cigarettes on the ground. But that hardly mattered. Freedom tasted sweet, even in this cold, bleak land. Even under Rafe's thumb.

Raphael Adler... He was a vicious little shit. Rich, handsome, and used to getting whatever he wanted with the flash of cash, and yet, he was almost desperate to find Avery's treasure. Why? He had something to prove, Sam figured. Yeah. Rafe was a royal pain in the ass. Easy on the eyes, though. And his money helped them get things done. It got his ass out of prison.

Sam exhaled a plume of smoke and the wind snatched it from his lips, skirling it away faster than he could see. He was fucking freezing, but also antsy as hell, and needed a smoke lest he explode. Avery's cross was what it would take to move this job forward, and he'd been steadily tracking it down. Just, not fast enough for Rafe, who was becoming increasingly pissy as of late. That and something else.

Sam wasn't blind to those looks Rafe had been shooting him. At first, he mistook it for anger, and shrugged them off. But the heat in Rafe's eyes these days... He shivered in a way that had nothing to do with the icy wind. It'd been a long thirteen years in prison. Without the touch of another. Yeah, if Rafe wanted it, he'd willingly oblige.

He was just taking one last hit from his smoke when he heard a scuff of a boot on the worn stone behind him. Sam didn't turn, exhaling smoke into the wind.

"If you're quite finished, come inside before you lose an extremity," Rafe's tone was sarcastic, annoyed and annoying.

Sam glanced back and him and found the man bundled in a sleek parka and leather gloves, arms folded against the cold, cheeks and nose reddening just slightly. It was kind of cute.

"Some of them would be a greater loss than others," Sam quipped casually, flashing Rafe a crooked smile. He received a roll of the eyes for his trouble.

"Whatever. I need you functional for what comes next."

"Oh yeah?" Sam quirked a brow, stepping closer. "What'd you have in mind?"

Rafe half-turned away, jerking his head back toward the door. Typical. Sam rolled his shoulders in an easy shrug and followed.

The sleek, modern building was out of place among the craggy hills and the ancient St. Dismas Cathedral and Monastery. All concrete and steel and glass, affording a view of both the sea and the ruins. It was warm here, luxurious even, in its stark and minimalist way that Rafe had clearly chosen.

Sam dropped onto a leather sofa, long legs stretched out before him, still wearing his denim jacket, snowy boots leaving a puddle on the floor. He purposefully did not watch as Rafe tugged off his gloves, a finger at a time. Pocketing them. Unzipping his parka, shrugging it off his shoulders. He didn't see him smooth a hand back through wind-ruffled hair. Didn't see, but surely felt the heated stare directed at him, now. Maybe Rafe was finally going to make his move.

Time seemed to drag, as he waited. Finally, he looked up. Rafe was gone. What the hell?

Sam pushed himself to his feet and moved across the room toward the hall, glancing into the office as he passed; empty. Intrigued, he continued onward toward the staircase and up toward the bedrooms. His own--a generically ultramodern suite--was closed up, but Rafe's door stood open. Sam poked his head in.

Just in time to see Rafe peeling off his dark tunic, baring a smooth pale expanse of taut stomach, dusted with a trail of downy hair, and his chest, defined in a pleasingly lean way that comes from an active lifestyle. And then he turned his back, facing a mirror. Sam stepped into the room then, practically ghosting to Rafe.

 

 

He'd rid himself of jacket and shirt and could still smell those damn cigarettes. Rafe stared at his reflection a moment, then closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. Samuel Drake. He could smell the man as if he were right here. Rafe skimmed a hand up his bare stomach and imagined he could feel the heat of a body at his back. His mind conjured large hands, rough with calluses, touching his hip, his neck. He exhaled shakily. Shit, that almost felt real. He could feel Samuel's hot breath on his neck. He gasped, dizzy. And his eyes fluttered open.

Samuel's dark eyes met his, in the mirror's reflection. Rafe blinked, blanching, then flushing furiously. "What the fuck..." He breathed, "do you think you're doing?!"

Rather than give answer, Sam buried his face into the skin of Rafe's neck, mouth opening to nip and suck at the sensitive flesh there. Rough fingertips traced down over his shoulder and along his clavicle. The other hand boldly tracing the cut of his hip toward the waist of his trousers.

Rafe huffed and brushed both hands away, shrugging off his mouth. "Samuel! I said--"

Sam's hand gripped the back of his neck, and steered him toward the closest piece of furniture. A bureau. He forced Rafe down across it's surface. "Doin' you a favor," Sam said, and in that moment, Rafe could feel the man's hips grinding against his ass from behind.

He growled, and shoved backward, knocking the taller man off balance and spinning to take a swing at him. "Don't make me laugh, Drake!" Sam easily dodged the punch, and captured his wrist. Rafe tugged his arm back. "Look, asshole, I don't know what you thought--"

"Yeah, you do," Sam said, smirking. "You've been thinkin' about it for weeks. I'm just helping things along here." He spread his hands.

"Yeah, how fucking altruistic of you." Rafe bared his teeth, straightening his spine. Somehow managing to look down his nose at the taller man.

"Hey, I try. You ain't makin' this easy."

He could feel his face heating. Humiliation. At the situation. At the fact Samuel was right about him. Anger. At the fact that he was read like an open book. At the fact that Sam expected him to just...just... "This isn't happening. I suggest you take yourself out of my quarters before you do something you're going to regret." Okay, yes. Good. That sounded earnest enough--believable.

Samuel laughed. Laughed! "Okay, pal. If this is how you wanna play it..." He turned away, and muttered, "Fuckin' primadona..."

 

 

He went back downstairs, to the liquor cabinet, and poured himself a stiff drink. Rafe had all sorts of expensive shit that was strong and smooth, and Sam was willing to knock a few back. He drained his first glass and refilled it. Dropped a hand to adjust the crotch of his pants, which had become uncomfortably tight. He considered stepping out for another smoke, but a glance out at the dark landscape beyond killed that idea. A nasty looking storm was escalating outside.

So he shrugged out of his coat and sprawled on the sofa again, swirling his expensive bourbon in a crystal tumbler. His eyes drifted closed and immediately he conjured the view of Rafe's sleek torso. Ugh. That was a mistake. He was supposed to be winding down, not keying himself up further. He rubbed a hand against the aching bulge in his pants and huffed a sigh.

He woke--when had he fallen asleep?--to a weight settling in his lap. He opened his eyes. Rafe, straddling his hips, still shirtless and goddamn, he looked good.

The younger man collected the tumbler from his hand and downed the drink in a quick toss.

Sam opened his mouth to speak. Immediately a finger pushed to his lips.

"Don't," Rafe said eyes heated, glaring, but also hungry. "One word, and I'm gone."

Sam nodded, his hands slid up Rafe's thighs to fumble with the fly of his fine trousers. And Rafe began to grind his hips against Sam's lap. A low groan slipped from Sam before he could stop himself. He shot Rafe a quick, fearful look. Received a filthy little grin.

Sam nearly snorted, but thought better of it. He had Rafe's trousers open and slowly worked them--along with whatever overpriced underwear he had on--as far down his writhing hips as he could. Rafe's hands curled in the collar of Sam's shirt, tearing it open with a pop-skitter of buttons across the floor. Soft hands slipped up his bared, hairy chest, and pushed his ruined shirt off his shoulders. Slipped behind his neck to tangle in his hair.

Then Rafe pushed up on his knees, lurching forward. Their mouths crashed together in a voracious kiss. All teeth and tongue and hot, mingled breath. Sam took the opportunity to slide both trousers and underwear down over the fine curve of Rafe's ass. Then he grabbed a double handful of said ass. Kneading. Spreading him as Rafe fucked his mouth with his tongue.

He groaned again and his hips jerked upward, seeking friction. Breaking the kiss, he put a wide eyed stare on Rafe. "Let's fuck, already."

 

 

Annoyed, Rafe shoved himself up off Samuel's lap, jerking his pants up his hips. "Really?! You couldn't shut up for five minutes? Fuck you," he sneered.

"That's the idea." He returned dryly.

"Unbelievable," Rafe scoffed and turned on his heel, to stalk back toward the stairs. A large, hot hand caught his wrist.

"Wait!" Samuel sounded almost desperate, and it gave Rafe a little thrill. He paused, but didn't look at the man, lest he cave. "Come on, Rafe. You know you want this. Don't be an idiot."

He tugged his arm away, and fired a sharp look over one shoulder. "This is your loss, Samuel. Maybe one day you'll learn not to run your goddamned mouth."

And though he wanted nothing more than to settle in the man's lap again and pretend this hadn't happened, his ego demanded otherwise. Up the stairs and into his room, Rafe slammed the door behind him and threw himself onto his bed with a groan. Samuel fucking Drake. What an asshole.

 

 

Sam stared after him, dumbfounded. Incredulous. Then he scowled as the discomfort in his pants made itself known. His loss? HIS? Yeah right... He killed the fancy decanter of bourbon before staggering up to his room to pass out.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam felt like cold shit when he woke the next afternoon. Hungover and, to his annoyance, no less free of the previous night's hunger a jerk session and a cold shower did little to abate. He made his way downstairs in a black mood, seeking food.  
  
Rafe was nowhere to be seen. Sam wasn't sure if he was glad or not for that little respite. There was, however, a fresh pot of strong coffee, which he helped himself to, along with some toast. After that, he shrugged into his coat and went out for a smoke.  
  
Fresh snow from last night's storm revealed several pairs of boot prints coming to and leaving the house, heading for the cathedral ruins. Whatever Rafe was up to out there, Sam wasn't terribly interested. He certainly wasn't going to track him down.  
  
Finishing up, he went back inside and spent some time on the internet. It kind of blew his mind how much a person could do with it these days. Archaeology and antiquities sites held all kinds of intriguing photos and listings. He began to sift through them. On the digital hunt for Avery's cross.  
  
Time passed and hunger finally drove him out in search of food. The kitchen was well stocked, of course. Sam helped himself to a plate and loaded it. The wall of windows afforded a choice view of the cathedral, bathed in sunset hues as the sun dropped. He stared down at the ruin as he ate, almost trancelike in his tedium.  
  
There was a flash in the ruins and the ground rumbled. Even at this distance, Sam could feel it through the concrete floor. He jerked in surprise, eyes wide on the plume of smoke rising from what remained of the old cathedral.  
  
"Shit!" He whispered and bolted out the door.  


  
  
Rafe ducked back through the ancient archway, coughing softly and fanning dust from his face. As the smoke and dust cleared, he had his first view of what lay beyond the infuriating seal he'd been puzzling over for hours. Darkness, a chill draft, and the sound of running water.  
  
His mood, which had been dark all damn day, finally lifted as he stepped forward. Eager. He clicked on his flashlight and found cut stone stairs. "Yes," he hissed softly, and picked a careful path over the rubble that was once wall. The passage beyond looked to be an older part of the building, sealed off from the main sanctuary for some reason. And that reason, while not evident at the moment, was something Rafe intended to find out.  
  
The stairs were a bit slick, but he navigated them safely, up and around until he was sure he must be practically above the chapel. He found a door, the wood soft and rotten, and easily crumbling under minimal force, and moved onward into... Rafe wasn't entirely sure. Storage of some sort, a forgotten attic, long abandoned, maybe. Rafe could still hear the running water, and scanned the walls until he found the source. A sizable crack where wall met ceiling, spilling out water in a stream. No daylight shone beyond, however, so he had to believe there was yet more to see above.  
  
Onward, then! The floor, rather than the sturdy stone of the stair, was wood like the door, and gave disturbingly under his weight. Boots sinking in the soft, rotten material. He moved quickly, lest he fall through, but there was an awful sound, and the entire floor caved in. Rafe tried to leap for some kind of hold but found himself in a freefall.

  
  
  
Sam burst through the cathedral doors blowing hard from his run, and also freezing his ass off, as he'd not bothered for his coat. Stupid... He scanned the sanctuary but saw no one. He did, however, spy the fresh hole in the wall, and as he came closer, a disturbing amount of debris, like sodden wood. Also water pouring from a hole in the ceiling and a body--Rafe hanging from one of the chandeliers. Draped over it like a limp rag. Was he even conscious? "Rafe? Rafe!!"  
  
A soft groan answered him, and the limp figure above stirred. Coughed. "I'm here..." He croaked softly, opening his eyes and gaping at the dizzying site of the chapel floor some 50 odd feet below. "Samuel...?"  
  
"I'm going to the mezzanine, hang tight." He answered, already hauling himself up the decorative stone wall. From there, Rafe was only about twenty feet away, and Sam could get a better look at the situation. "Alright, I'm right here. Are you hurt?"  
  
"I'm hurt _ing_." Rafe answered, and seemed to be attempting to shift his weight on the iron of the chandelier. Then slipped, with a soft cry of surprise. He caught hold of the bars with a hand and hung there for a terrifying moment, before lifting his other hand for a better grip. "Samuel, if you were planning on getting me down from here, I think now might be a good time." How the hell did he sound so damn calm?  
  
"Jesus! I said hang tight," Sam scanned the balcony and spied what he needed. The chandelier's pulley system. He jogged over and began winching it down toward the floor below. A scant minute or two later, Rafe released his grip and dropped to the main floor. The moment Sam heard him, he set the catch on the winch and made his way to the edge to pick a path back down.  
  
When he got there, Rafe had dropped into one of the moldering pews, hands held gingerly to his ribs. Sam closed the distance. "Let's see it." He said, and Rafe cracked open an eye to peer at him.  
  
"I'll be fine."  
  
"Rafe. What were you doing? What would you have done if I hadn't come out here?"  
  
"What _are_ you doing out here?"  
  
"Saving your ass, apparently. You're welcome, by the way. Look, if you're not going to let me have a look at your ribs, then at least let me help you back up to the house."

  
  
  
It was a bit of a hike, no sweat on a normal day. But Rafe was in no small amount of pain, and he had to keep stopping. Sucking breaths through his teeth. Samuel had to be half frozen by now, in his shirtsleeves. But he never once strayed from Rafe's side.  
  
The fact both warmed and worried Rafe. And annoyed him for feeling either of those things. "You're no use to me, dead," he ground out harshly, cutting a glare at Sam, who merely smiled tiredly. His lips were turning blue.  
  
"Likewise. Let's k-keep movin', yeah? Before I f-freeze solid."  
  
"Idiot. Why didn't you wear your coat?" Rafe started up the path again, eyes fixed on the lights of the house not far off now.  
  
"I g-guess I didn't think ab-bout it," Samuel was shivering visibly, arms folded tight about his core. "I saw the b-blast and c-came running."  
  
Rafe blinked slowly, glanced at him. "You came because you thought...?" You thought I might be hurt.  
  
"Well...I wasn't wrong..."  
  
Rafe stepped closer, and wrapped an arm around Sam's back, pressing against him. "We'd better hurry. You don't look so good."

  
  
  
When they arrived at the house at last, Rafe guided Sam to an oversized chair near the fireplace, then stepped away to push the button which ignited the flames. "Don't move," he commanded, "I'll be right back." And Sam let his eyes drift closed for a moment, nodding.  
  
He knew he ought to try and stay conscious, or this was all over, but he was so damn cold. And tired. He just wanted to sleep. Forever. What? No. Fuck that. He had treasure to find and--  
  
"Samuel!" Rafe was shaking his shoulder. "Aw shit, no. Come on!"  
  
Sam could feel as Rafe began to unfasten his shirt, and he uttered a soft snort. At least he didn't tear this one off. Better wake up before he gets to the good stuff without you, genius.  
  
"Your skin is like ice. Oh fuck, this is not good. Come on, Samuel, don't do this to me, man."  
  
Rafe, Sam thought, sounded a little worried. And that should have worried him, but he was tired, drifting. Vaguely, he felt his button-down being pulled away. His t-shirt being peeled off. He tried to move his limbs to help, but he felt sluggish, lethargic. And then something soft settled about his shoulders.  
  
His boots went next. Socks. He thought Rafe was unfastening his belt and then, pants... Well, he didn't wear anything under those.  


  
  
"I swear to Christ, you better not die on me," Rafe muttered as he went about stripping Samuel down. The fire crackled cheerily, bathing them both in warm orange light, but he hardly took the time to appreciate the view. He bundled the man in a thick, plush, microfiber blanket. Fetched a cup of only slightly burnt coffee, and returned to push it to Sam's lips. "Drink."  
  
Samuel made a soft sound of protest. He looked so weak and so pale and the blanket wasn't holding in his heat because his body wasn't making enough of it. Rafe chewed at his lip. He knew what Sam needed, but... Oh to hell with it!  
  
At once, Rafe began shucking off his own clothing, wincing as he pulled off his own shirt. A nasty red line marked his ribcage. That would be black and blue tomorrow... He huffed at himself. "It doesn't matter," he muttered, and unfastened his pants.  
  
Once he was nude, he unwrapped Samuel's blanket and climbed into the chair with him. Wrapped the two of them up, snugly. Samuel was icy, and Rafe was hardly comfortable, but neither did he want the man to succumb. He began to shiver, pressed tight against Sam's chilly skin, and after a moment's hesitation, slowly slipped his arms around him. Pressed even closer.  
  
"Come on, Samuel," he whispered. "Wake up."  
  
Rafe must have drifted off, because he awoke feeling overheated, sweating, even. Pressed against Sam, who was radiating warmth like he had a fire inside. He had recovered, then. Well, that was a relief, at least.  
  
And now, with the two of them naked and pressed together, Rafe felt torn between awkwardness at the intimacy, and the selfsame lust he'd been wrangling for weeks. Resolve crumbling like those rotten boards in the chapel, he leaned his face toward Samuel's neck, breathing in his scent. He was hyper aware of Sam's long, muscular limbs, tangled around him. His own arms wound about the man. 

It was well past time to disengage and get dressed, but... He was struck with a sudden selfish and potent urge to satiate his curiosity regarding Samuel's endowments. After all, the man hadn't been shy about taking uninvited liberties with his... With a crooked little smirk, his hands slid over the unconscious body. Fingertips tracing the lines of his muscles. Finding the trio of bullet scars on his stomach, and then lower. Boldly, perversely, he sought and found Samuel's cock and traced it with clever fingertips. It stirred. And so did Sam.

 

 

"Nnn..." He groaned softly, shifting in the chair, with Rafe pressed against him. "Not even gonna buy me dinner first?" He cracked an eye and peered at his partner, lips tugging upward in a sly little grin.

Rafe looked beyond guilty, and, Sam thought, totally hot, as color stole into his cheeks.

"Idiot!" He snapped. "I was trying to untangle myself from you!"

"Oh, sure," Sam grinned wider. "You know, you coulda at least waited til I was conscious. Sorry I missed it. Was I any good, at least?"

Rafe began to splutter and curse. To struggle, and managed to unwind the blanket from around them, spilling himself practically onto the floor in his haste to gather his pants. He tugged them on, eyes averted.

Sam simply drew the blanket around himself and smiled, enjoying the show. "Listen, ah, thanks. For the defrost, you know."

"Yeah, well, next time, wear a jacket, asshole." He stomped away.

"Rafe," Sam called, shifting forward in the chair. "Hang on. Come back. Raaafe. Come on."

Rafe paused, glanced back. His face was doing the thing. No emotion. Sam frowned, and waved him back over. "Listen, I know I piss you off when I'm goofin'. But... Come here."

He waited, practically holding his breath as he saw the gears turning in Rafe's pale eyes. And then he came back. Pants hanging off his hips, that nasty bruise just starting to form across his ribs, hair in a disarray. He looked delicious, Sam thought. 

"Yes?" There was an edge to Rafe's voice.

 Sam spread his hands, letting the blanket slip down to settle about his waist. "One of these days," he said, "you're gonna have to stop being so stubborn about this."

"Or what?" Rafe challenged.

"Huh. Okay..." Sam shrugged, nodded grudgingly. "Okay. I guess you'll just see."

Rafe scoffed, and marched away.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for being so patient while I knocked this chapter out! Life ate my face for a bit there, and the chapter is a bit shorter than the others, but I hope this is still worth the wait?

Rafe woke up in pain. Specifically, the muscles of his abdomen were stiff and aching, such that, when he attempted sitting up, it was too painful by far to do. So he wallowed about on the thick, pillowtop mattress, attempting to roll over, get his limbs under him. Oh, how he regretted dispensing with his house staff now. Why had that ever seemed like a good idea? With a groan, he managed to ease his legs off the edge of the bed and slowly, carefully, levered himself up to his feet.  
  
Dawn was just breaking out the window. His stomach growled, feeling like a hollowed out pit. Perhaps Samuel--no, he wasn't going to ask Samuel Drake for help.  
  
Making his way to his room's en suite, Rafe flicked on the light and inspected his nude reflection in the massive floor to ceiling mirror. The bruising wasn't as bad as he'd originally imagined it to be. Dark and ugly, yes, but not overly large. He took a few minutes to feel gingerly at his ribs, ensuring that everything seemed to be in order. No breaks. Nothing out of place. There wasn't even a whole lot of swelling. Just the bruise and the uncomfortable ache of his tightened muscles trying to protect themselves. He exhaled a mildly painful sigh.  
  
The jacuzzi tub was a siren's song, calling to him with sweet promises of relief in a hot and bubbly soak. But so too did his empty stomach demand attention. Rafe split the difference with a quick, hot shower. He wanted to linger under the steam and soothing streams of heat, but ultimately did not. After toweling off, and bundling himself in a thick, plush bathrobe--he would dress after he filled the howling void in his stomach--he opened the door to his rooms. And was immediately struck by the mouthwatering scents of a cooking breakfast. The savory grease scent of sizzling bacon, dark rich coffee, something warm and sweet, like maybe pancakes?  
  
Rafe stepped down the stairs, fully expecting to find his chef bustling about the kitchen. But no, it was none other than Samuel Drake who was bopping about the kitchen, in the midst of cooking a massive breakfast. He stood there on the stair, watching him for some time, not entirely sure how to feel. Or perhaps more accurately, unwilling to acknowledge those feelings. No one ever did these kinds of things for him without being well compensated. Drake must be up to something.  
  


  
  
  
"Is that French toast?"  
  
Sam glanced up at the stair, where Rafe stood in a fuzzy white robe. "Oh, hey, you're up and about," he greeted, nodding. "Yeah French toast, bacon, gonna start the eggs next. You want hashbrowns, too?"  
  
Another glance revealed a bewildered expression on Rafe's face, which was quickly replaced by a blank mask.  
  
"What are you doing?" He asked in a cool, detached voice.  
  
"Makin' breakfast," Sam grinned, winking at him and then turning his attention back to the skillet.  
  
"For an army?"  
  
"You aren't hungry?" He didn't look up again, didn't want Rafe to feel forced to have to hide. And though Rafe didn't answer vocally, he came down the stair and to the kitchen island where prepared food was already spread out. Sam watched out of the corner of his eye as he perused the fare. He hadn't made _that_ much. Then again, he wasn't sure if Rafe was a power-smoothie-for-breakfast sort. He hoped not.  
  
A soft clink of china announced Rafe taking a plate, and he stepped around beside Sam to the stove, began to fill it with food. Sam relaxed, and flipped the French toast. "You want coffee?" Sam prompted him.  
  
"Why are you doing this?" Rafe asked, instead, voice calm and aloof.  
  
"You don't like coffee?" Sam blinked.  
  
He watched as Rafe sighed and set down his plate. Grabbed a cup and the coffee pot, and poured himself some coffee. After a moment's hesitation, he topped off Sam's mug as well. Sam grinned.  
  
"So, how you feelin'? Little sore?" He asked, watching as Rafe lifted the mug for a sip.  
  
"It's not that bad," he replied, then reached for his plate. Picked up a piece of bacon. "Were you planning on watching me, then?" His pale eyes fastened on Sam's face, brows just barely pinched.  
  
"Hey, just making sure you build up your strength," he laughed.  
  
"For?"  
  
"You'll see."  
  


  
  
  
Rafe inhaled through his nose, and sighed a softly dubious grunt. Samuel was indeed up to something. And he found himself entertaining the possibilities as he crunched on his bacon. Of course, he would never admit that. "I don't have time for your games today, Samuel," he said. "I found something last night, and I intend to get a better look today."  
  
"You mean that hole in the sanctuary ceiling? What you found was a near death experience."  
  
"Don't patronize me."  
  
"Oh, come on. Rafe, you aren't really thinkin' of going back out there? So soon? You need to recover. Your ribs--"  
  
"Are fine," he finished.  
  
"No way, I don't want you out there," Sam replied stubbornly.  
  
Rafe scoffed. "You actually think what you want means anything to me?"  
  
There was a flash in Samuel's eyes, a shift of his shoulders. He turned to Rafe, and closed the distance between them. "I think," he said, voice carrying dark notes of something authoritative. Something that stirred Rafe inside, made his heart pick up a bit. "You're gonna change your tune." He planted a hand on the counter top to either side of Rafe, gazing down into his eyes.  
  
Rafe had to work not to react. With Sam this close, his dark eyes intense. His scent overpowering even the cooking breakfast. Rafe wanted him. Now.  
  
And suddenly, Sam was pressed against him. Rafe's heart skipped three beats. Their hips ground together, and Rafe could feel his heat. He exhaled a shaky little sigh. It was all he could do not to reach for those broad shoulders, run his hands down that chest, veiled only by a ratty teeshirt.  
  
Sam leaned in, the stubble of his cheek brushing Rafe's jaw as he put his mouth to his ear. "You know what I want," he whispered, breath tickling. And Rafe shivered despite himself. His head practically spun and he knew he'd lost this game. He was ready. This was going to happen, finally, and he was so fucking ready for it. He shifted his hips against Sam's, letting the man feel him, so hard under his plush robe.  
  
Sam drew back, then, a spatula in his hand from the utensil rack behind Rafe. He wore a smug little grin, and he tapped it to the end of Rafe's nose. "I just wanna know how you like your eggs."  
  
Rafe's brain backpedaled and for a moment, he floundered. What the fuck was this? What was Samuel doing?? He gaped at the man, and received a wicked little grin.  
  
Oh, fuck no. This was war.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up, guys! As of this chapter, the fic has officially ventured from Mature to Explicit. 
> 
> Again, sorry for the delay, and I hope you all enjoy <3

Rafe was silent, terse, as he ate. But he ate his fill, not because Samuel's cooking was delicious, which he grudgingly admitted to himself--it was. But because he was still starving, damnit.  
  
Samuel was smug as he served up the remainder of the food. They had moved to the table to eat their hearty breakfasts, and the man had the audacity to attempt conversation. Again and again. As though he hadn't just knowingly and intentionally humiliated Rafe. Of course, Rafe had ignored every attempt. He hadn't looked at Samuel even once over the course of the meal. In spite of some very strong urges to do just that. No, he was busy plotting revenge.  
  
He ate two more bites of syrup-drizzled french toast, tuning out whatever it was Samuel was blathering on about now, then set down his fork and slammed both palms down on the table with a loud thump, startling Sam to silence. Rafe pushed himself to his feet, prowled around to table to where Samuel sat, and took ahold of one of his shoulders, pushing him back in his chair. Then he swung a leg over Samuel's own legs and straddled his lap, well aware of how his robe gaped.  
  
The look on Samuel's face at that moment was one Rafe tried to memorize, to save for later. Shocked, yes, and decidedly aroused--and utterly no trace of that oh-so-annoying smugness. He cupped Samuel's face in his hands and dipped in as though to kiss him, pausing at the last moment, a mere inch from the man's lips. Samuel's breath was sweet with syrup and quickening. Rafe felt his hands settling on his waist, sliding down to his hips over the fuzzy robe.  
  
"Samuel," Rafe breathed, and rocked his hips, pulling a soft groan from the man beneath him, "you don't start what you can't finish." Their lips grazed one another, and suddenly, Samuel jerked him closer. His mouth fed voraciously on Rafe's, as if they had not just finished a meal and Samuel was starved.  
  
  
  
  
Sam kissed him hard and hungrily, and was utterly delighted by the way Rafe seemed to melt into that kiss. Yes, this rich brat needed a firm hand, and Sam didn't have a problem providing it. It was only a matter of getting Rafe to decide he wanted this, that it was _his_ idea. That seemed to have done the trick. He grinned into the kiss, and slipped a hand between them, to where Rafe's robe split open at the front.  
  
Rafe was hard again, and that excited Sam. He skimmed the backs of his fingers against Rafe's cock and received a gratifying moan in response. Oh, but that was too easy. He was careful not to give him anymore direct stimulation as he moved his hand to caress the insides of his thighs instead.  
  
Rafe began to grind against him again, and pulled back from the kiss, shooting him a hot look. "Touch me," he demanded, and Sam couldn't help but grin.  
  
"What're you talkin' about? We're touchin', aren't we?" Maybe it had been a bit much, but damn if Rafe didn't make it easy to tease him.  
  
Rafe's pale eyes flashed, and he set his jaw, and Sam knew then that he had pushed too far. He was going to bolt again if Sam didn't take immediate action. "Easy, easy... you in a hurry to cross the finish line?" He wrapped a hand around Rafe's shaft and gave him a friendly squeeze.  
  
  
  
  
You need to get up and walk away, Rafe told himself, again and again as he rocked in Samuel's lap, thrusting into his fist, groaning into another kiss. He wanted to win this little game of theirs, but at this moment, he almost didn't mind losing... Almost, He tore his mouth away from Samuel's, pushed away from him, up and out of his lap.  
  
Samuel frowned, confused, and then determined, his grip tightening on Rafe's hip. "No way, uh uh. You're not gettin' away this time," he said, trying to pull him back. "God damn it, Rafe! You want this! Look at you... Why?!"  
  
Rafe drew himself up, wrapping his robe about himself properly, fixing Samuel with a blank stare. Why, indeed? At this moment, he wasn't entirely sure, himself, except that his ego demanded he remain in control here. "You want me to stay?"  
  
Samuel gestured with hand. "Obviously."  
  
"Let's see how badly," Rafe pushed Samuel's breakfast out of the way and sat on the end of the table before him, untying and parting his robe again. "Put that big mouth of yours to good use."  
  
Samuel arched a brow, settling back in his chair, running his eyes over Rafe. Ever so slowly, his mouth curved into a grin.  
  
  
  
  
Sam had to admit, Rafe knew how to toy with him. And god damn, did he look delectable, spread out on the table like dessert. Yes, Sam decided, he'd do as Rafe asked, and then he would fuck him right there on that table.  
  
He leaned forward, hands brushing lightly up his inner thighs, teasing caresses. He dipped his head and dragged a tongue up Rafe's stiff cock, reveling in the answering soft, pleasured sigh. Sam lapped at his length again, and again, flicking the tip of his tongue against the sensitive underside of the head of his dick. Rafe began to moan, his fingers carded through Sam's hair.  
  
And Sam smiled. He had to admit, it was damn good to finally win the game. The way Rafe's hips rolled, and those noises he was making, were driving Sam wild. He stole a glance up at Rafe's face, which was blushing nicely, and oh, fuck, those pale eyes locked on him, pupils so wide with lust. Sam's own cock was so hard, achingly hard, actually, in his jeans. The way Rafe tasted and the feel of him, so hard and hot in his mouth after all this teasing. And maaaan, winning was going to feel so good. He could already picture that amazing ass of his in the air, the arch of his back against the table...  
  
  
  
  
Rafe had to admit, Samuel was making this extremely difficult. He'd just been so tense, so fucking hungry for this. And now the man was working magic with his mouth, and his fingers... Oh, it was clear Samuel intended this to go all the way, with that intense look in his dark eyes, and his spit-slick fingers toying with Rafe's ass.  
  
Oh, but it was so good. Samuel knew all the right things to do, instinctively, as though they'd been lovers for a lifetime. And Rafe loved every moment of it. He didn't want it to end. But he'd been frustrated for so long, and Samuel was too good at what he was doing, and he felt the pleasure building, coiling inside, and he was--"Fuck, Samuel, I'm close!" He moaned, desperate to tip over that edge.  
  
Samuel's only response was a waggle of eyebrows and a low moan around his mouthful, which made his tongue vibrate against Rafe's cock, and that was it. "Fuck yes!" Rafe cried. His body arched up off the table, pleasure racing white-hot through him and out into Samuel's mouth. He'd wanted to watch him, as he had throughout the entire blowjob, but in that moment, his vision blanked, and he slumped back on the table, riding out the waves of bliss.  
  
When he finally opened his eyes, and pushed up on his elbows, Samuel had his cock out, and a very self satisfied smirk on his face. Rafe flashed him a wicked little grin. "Well, now. That was putting your mouth to good use, at long last."  
  
  
  
  
Sam chuckled and stepped closer, leaning in to kiss his mouth, sharing Rafe's taste with him. "God, you're gorgeous like this," he rasped, getting handsy with his ass again. And suddenly Rafe's hand was on his chest, and pushing him firmly away.  
  
"That's sweet, Samuel, really," he said, his face slipping into that goddamned blank mask again. "But I've got shit to do today. So thanks, and uh...clean up the mess you made of my kitchen, yeah?" He pushed off the table, brushing past Sam, past his hard dick, out and ready.  
  
Sam grabbed his arm. "What?! What the fuck? Rafe!"  
  
And Rafe gave him a dead eye stare, and tugged away from his grip, then moved toward the stairs. Oh ho ho... this little bastard had _no_ idea who he was dealing with. This was fuckin' war.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the brevity of this chapter. I promise to make it up to you all with the next one ;)

Sam cleaned the kitchen. Not because Rafe had told him to, of course. Hell, no, but because he'd made the mess to begin with. That, and it was something to keep his hands busy while he plotted. After scrubbing down the pans, stove, and counter tops, he gathered the remnants of breakfast and carried them back to the kitchen island.  
  
He had underestimated Rafe, but that wasn't going to happen again. No sir, Sam had his number, now. He was going to corner, to torture Rafe, have him begging for it, by the time he was through. Sam licked his lips as several scenarios played out in his mind. He only needed to properly bait Rafe. Maybe something like traipsing around the house in his drawers. Hell, why not?  
  
Sam turned toward the back counter, and began loading up the state-of-the-art dishwasher, smirking to himself as he imagined Rafe's eyes on his body. Yeah, he'd been staring plenty when he was fully dressed. Let him get a load of Sam walking around in a pair of boxers.  
  
Dishwasher loaded, he closed and started it, and turned back toward the large, open room where kitchen merged with living space--and immediately froze. Rafe, naked as the day he was born, wandered casually through the living room, as though completely oblivious to Sam standing right there. Gawking. He was fucking gawking. Sam worked to school his slack-jawed expression into something a bit less...   
  
Rafe bent to pick up something from a low table, and as he did, he cast one slow, heated glance at Sam, smirked, and retreated back up the stairs.  
  
"Fuck..." Sam uttered when he finally found his voice. "Gonna have to step up my game a bit..."  
  
  
  
Upstairs, Rafe was grinning like a fool at himself in the mirror. The look on Samuel's face was absolutely _priceless_ , and there was literally no way he would win this war, now that Rafe had the upper hand.  
  
Again, he was struck with that strong desire to give in and let Samuel have his way. Fantasies unfolded in his imagination, of Samuel's large, callused hands on his body, teasing and groping, and making Rafe come apart. Because, truly, it was what he wanted, as well, if he was being honest with himself. But his ego would not allow it. And he could hardly understand why anymore.  
  
Put this game out of your mind and focus, he told himself. That attic room, above the Sanctuary, wasn't going to explore itself. He forced himself to dress for the hike down to the ruins.  
  
Thick socks, heavy trousers, a sweater over his tee, and then his hiking boots and parka. He was going to see what lay beyond the floor he'd fallen through. The ghost of an ache rose at the thought and he lay a hand against his ribs. They bore a bruise, but there seemed to be little else in the way of damage. Luckily...  
  
He left his rooms and came downstairs, peering about for Samuel, but finding only the tidied kitchen. He felt a pang of disappointment, and headed out into the crisp morning air. And was immediately assaulted by the scent of cigarettes. He paused and looked around, but still saw no other sign of Sam. And was mildly bemused by how much it really bothered him.  
  
He made his way down the now familiar trail to the cathedral, and once inside, smelled cigarettes again. "Samuel?" He called, and listened as his voice rolled around the sanctuary ceiling and echoed out the large missing portion, disappearing into the grey skies beyond.  
  
"Up here," Rafe heard Sam call, and lifted his eyes the the hole he'd created the day before. Sam peeked out over one edge, catching his eyes, smirking, then disappearing from sight.  
  
"That--that's my find!!" Rafe snapped and rushed to and up the slick stairway.  
  
  
  
  
Sam pulled himself across the decorative stone wall of the room with the ruined floor, toward the distant door, expecting a belligerent Rafe to appear at the head of the stair any moment. But Sam was quick, he moved with the surety of one who was used to scaling walls with the tiniest of finger holds. One swift kick had the door open, and he ascended another stair, this one spiraled, rickety and wooden, but not waterlogged. Oh, this was going to be good...  
  
The steeple was in about as good a repair as any other part of the ruin, which was to say it was precarious. But Sam had faith Rafe was fit enough to manage. So he climbed as far as he could, finally emerging into the belfry. Here, he shrugged off his pack and got set up. A large blanket, soft and thick and warm, he spread out on the floor. A coil of rope, finely woven and smooth, he laid on the blanket with a wicked smirk. And a small jar of coconut oil, which he'd nicked from the kitchen.  
  
He had only to wait for Rafe now. And he could hear him on the wooden staircase. Sam suppressed the urge to light up again. The anticipation was pretty overwhelming, it was true, but it would be a waste. The only thing he really wanted to inhale was Rafe's moans.  
  
And then Rafe was climbing into the belfry, his pale eyes full of anger, his face an expressionless mask. And suddenly, his carefully constructed facade shattered as his gaze flicked down to the blanket. Confusion, surprise, comprehension, eagerness, lust, and finally, the mask again. Sam watched in wonder as each emotion played out open across his face. And he smiled, He'd just won the game.  
  
  
  
  
"What is this, Samuel?" Rafe asked in a soft rasp, his mouth suddenly gone dry. He understood, all too well, just what this was, and he wasn't sure he'd ever wanted anything more than he wanted this to play out, at this exact moment.   
  
"What's it look like to you?" He asked innocently, while definitely not innocent brown eyes shifted over Rafe's frame, making him shiver and want to shed his clothes at the same time.  
  
"You don't seriously think I'm going to let you tie me up?" Rafe forced a laugh, like it was a joke. Oh Christ, but he wanted Sam to tie him up...  
  
"I don't think you're gonna _let_ me do anything," Samuel replied, his voice dropping into those low and commanding tones, like before, in the kitchen. "I think I'm going to tell you what to do, and you're going to obey."   
  
God, yes, Rafe thought, _anything._ But, "go to hell, Drake," was what came out of his mouth.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you goes out to @KaerWrites for talking me through this undertaking, and inspiring me to write this fic in the first place. As well as you wonderful readers who encouraged me to keep going. This one's for you <3

"Here's the thing," Samuel countered, and the bastard smiled, completely unperturbed by Rafe's response. He motioned with a wave of his hand toward the stairwell through which the other man had just come. "This ends today, one way or another. You play the game, or you walk out."

Rafe's answering smile was more a grimace, a pressing of his lips into a thin line. He resolutely did not look over his shoulder, did not break his gaze from Sam's. "Oh," he said tightly. "That's the way it is, is it?"

"That's the way it is," Sam confirmed.

Everything about this felt like a trap, one he had stupidly marched right into. Samuel had him cornered, and sure, he could walk away now, but Rafe knew in his bones he would forever regret that course of action. His body felt like it was thrumming, unable to move one way or another. His mind screamed, begging him to move, but fear kept him locked down, with the mask on. 

Giving in, going to Samuel now, that would be showing weakness. What would he do when they'd finished, and he needed more? When he needed what Sam wasn't willing to give? When Sam rejected him with finality. It was a hell of a risk. But the reward... Rafe took a tentative step forward, and then another.

Sam had his head cocked, a little smile playing on his face, close-lipped, not smug, no, but surely confident. He crooked his finger at Rafe, beckoning him closer. "You understand what this is, don't you?" he asked. Calm. He seemed so fucking calm. Affable, even pleasant. He said, "I'm going to take you apart. Piece by ever-loving piece. Seems to me you could use a good dicking."

Rafe's eyes fluttered closed for just a moment, his body already responding to the threat. Promise? He was playing too fast, too loose, it was too dangerous... And why? If this was just about fucking, Rafe would have over and done with it by now. But no, this was too terrifying to be about flesh and getting off. This was about being vulnerable. This was about wanting more. Sam to stay close, to play rough games and still touch him softly and say certain kinds of things. To stay. _To stay..._

 

 

  
Rafe seemed to take hold of himself, squaring his shoulders and clearing his throat. "You think you have what it takes?" He teased, meeting Sam's eyes.

"Baby, by the time I'm done, you won't even remember your own name." Sam flashed him a grin.

He received a roll of the eyes. "Samuel..." Rafe complained, lip curling in distaste.

"No," he said slowly. "That's **my** name. Now, take off your clothes."

He watched as Rafe unzipped his parka and was tugging his leather gloves off before pausing, the wheels turning in those pale eyes.

"Come on," Sam pressed when he did. "Every scrap. You didn't have any qualms about showing off that ass earlier, did you?"

Rafe's cheeks heated just a touch, and goddamn if it wasn't adorable. But he smirked, too, just like he had when he'd caught Sam gawking. "Ohhh, in need of inspiration, are we?" He continued undressing, then shrugging out of his coat, peeling off his sweater and tshirt together, baring his chest to the cool air and Sam's heated stare. His hands dropped to his belt next, unfastening it.

And as Sam's eyes followed his movements, there was no mistaking the hunger there, the implications that hung so heavy between them, that he intended to have Rafe Adler spread before him on that blanket before the day was done--that he would fuck him, and fuck him good, buried deep, hands on his skin. Touching, claiming, craving.

Sam didn't lift his eyes as he said, "And when you're done, you can do a little twirl for me, too."

 

 

  
Rafe shot him a hard look, toeing off his boots. He slid off his jeans and boxer briefs, stepping out of them and tugging off one sock at a time. When he'd finished, when he stood nude in the belfry with gooseflesh rippling over him from the chill in the air, he lifted his chin and regarded Sam down his nose. Very slowly, and deliberately, he pivoted around for the other man's viewing enjoyment.

A slow clap followed his movements. "Wonderful," Samuel said. "Now, get over here."

Rafe grit his teeth, hands curling into fists at his sides. But, he complied, approaching Sam with his heart thundering in his chest.

He received a smile for the concession and a chuckle, low and deep and lacking in any mockery. Sam reached out, clasped his shoulder, slid his thumb against his skin. "Hey," he murmured. "Just say the word and we're done, all right?"

He blinked slowly, perhaps not having expected such a thing, and unwilling as of yet to express gratitude for it, scoffed. "Oh, please. Do your worst."

"Oh," he said. "Oh, believe me, I will," and Sam bent his head. His hand tightened against his shoulder as he kissed him, crushed Rafe's mouth beneath his own. He tasted of tobacco, of that longed-for last cigarette, and something primal that made Rafe's head spin.

 

 

  
Sam's other hand slipped feather light up and down Rafe's bare spine, then his fingers splayed greedily, wanting to touch and hold him close. Their kiss was deep and drawn out, until both men were breathless when their lips parted. That didn't stop Rafe from chasing Sam's lips as he drew back. The older man grinned, and gave in, kissing him again, deep and thoroughly until Rafe was moaning softly into his mouth and arching his body against Sam's.

It was then that Sam pushed back to hold him at arm's length. "Easy now," he chuckled softly. "There's no need to rush. I want you to turn around." And as Rafe obeyed, he stooped to collect the rope, coming behind him to loop it around Rafe's chest and shoulders.

"That's not really--" Rafe began.

"Shhhhh, I'm gonna take good care'a ya, don't you worry," Sam murmured into his ear from behind, and then pressed open mouthed kisses down Rafe's neck as he crossed the rope and brought it around Rafe again, and again. He brushed kisses along Rafe's shoulders while he drew his arms behind his back and bound them together, wrapping them with coils of the silky cord, pausing only to tie off knots.

He could see and feel Rafe flexing, testing the restraints. They held his arms firmly with wrists crossed in the small of his back, rope crisscrossing prettily across his chest.

"Now come over here," Sam instructed, taking Rafe by the elbow and guiding him to the plush blanket.

 

 

Sam had Rafe kneel on the blanket and and he wet his lips, heart stuttering in his chest as the anticipation built. But instead of being made to blow Sam, like he'd imagined, Sam moved out of view. He felt fingertips tracing down his back and up, and then Sam's hot breath was on his neck. A kiss, a swipe of tongue, breath... His eyes drifted closed as he waited for things to progress, but Sam seemed content to lavish attention on his neck. Nuzzling his jaw, sucking softly at the pale skin above his speeding pulse, nipping, then licking almost apologetically.

Rafe's breath began to catch in his throat, and his cock stirred, and he tried to turn his face into Sam's, to capture his lips, but Sam pulled away. Down lower, tongue tracing his clavicle, his breastbone, and then over to one pink nipple. Rafe sucked in a breath as Sam's tongue lapped over the sensitive nub, then gasped as Sam's fingers pinched his other nipple. The teasing continued, now fingers gentle and teeth nipping, coaxing an unwilling moan from Rafe. His cock was getting stiff, now, and suddenly Sam was pulling away again.

Sam's large, long fingered hands slid up and down his thighs, making him shiver, making his cock stand at attention. His breathing picked up, anticipating the next touch, eyes slipping closed again and lip drawn through his teeth. The next touch was at the soft flesh at the back of his knee and his eyes fluttered open, confused and off balance. And then Sam's hand closed on the knotted cord binding his wrists and shoved him forward.

Rafe cried out, trying in vain to brace for the fall, terror flashing through him for a second until he realized Sam held him tight, and he hung at an angle. "Bend," the man murmured, and Rafe felt heat suffuse his face and ears as he bent at the waist, turning his head to one side as Sam lowered him gently to the blanket.

Sam's hands on his ass weren't unexpected, given his now very compromising position. He felt a knee between his thighs, urging them wider, and complied. Rafe felt his ass being spread and then suddenly, Sam's tongue was tracing up the crux of his legs, circling his entrance. He clamped his lips shut on a low whimper, only to gasp as that tongue delved inside of him.

 

 

Sam grinned as Rafe began to pant and squirm, then he fucked him with his tongue again. He took the opportunity to slip a finger in, and then a second--an easy feat with Rafe's spit-slick hole--and he crooked them, seeking Rafe's prostate. A jerk and a cry told him he was on the right track, and he began to stimulate him relentlessly, not even pretending to be stretching or prepping him.

Fuck, but Rafe was beautiful like this, red faced and desperate with his ass in the air, moaning and squirming. Sam could have gone on for hours, but he stopped as Rafe's thighs began to tremble, not wanting to push him over the edge. Not yet. He slipped his fingers out and ducked lower to run his tongue over Rafe's balls. He was gifted with a whine, which in turn, made him chuckle. Rafe began to shift, pressing back toward him, open and clearly eager for more.

With a smug smile, Sam slipped his fingers back inside, and Rafe moaned his approval. He began to stimulate him again, and watched as Rafe gasped and wiggled, until he was clearly right up against the edge. Then Sam stopped, taking the opportunity to adjust himself in his jeans, because he was rock hard, too.

"S-Samuel!" Rafe whined. "I swear to God if you don't finish what you've started--!"

"Oh I will. But not yet."

 

 

Rafe uttered a frustrated growl, straining against his restraints, but he had to admit--at least to himself--he was loving every moment of this. Utterly vulnerable and out of control. It was freeing in a way he could scarcely comprehend. And Sam seemed to know just what to do to bring him to the edge and keep him there. Hard pressed. 

Rough fingers traced and stroked his swollen cock and he cried out, body tensing. "Yesssssss!" He hissed, ready for his immenent release! But no, Sam backed off immediately.

"Wow... looks like we won't be going there anytime soon," he murmured with tones of smug amusement that had Rafe grinding his teeth.

Sam pulled him upright, again, and into his lap, and Rafe couldn't help but groan at the feel of Sam's hard cock through his jeans, pressing against his ass. He wigggled and rocked his hips, grinding against Sam's bulge, and Sam seemed to allow it for a bit, so he kept going, and tried to shift, so that he straddled Sam instead, because fuck, he needed friction. Sam's dark eyes watched him, amused, and his hands settled on Rafe's hips. Rafe felt an overwhemling wave of shame as he worked himself against Sam's jeans, utterly desperate and needing release. Drake so fucking smug, just sitting there and watching. Ugh, but fuck, it was hot, too, and he was close. Just a bit more, just a bi--

 

 

Sam gripped Rafe's hips and stilled his movement. "Ah ah ahhh... Not yet." He dropped a hand to cup Rafe's throbbing cock, preventing any further friction. And he watched the desperation and distress in Rafe's pale eyes. The heat in his cheeks and eyes, and the debauched sounds coming from those lips. Then he dipped his head to kiss him, and swallowed them whole.

The kisses were deliberately slow and deep and breathless. Drawn out and sensual and full of heat, but he kept his hand cupped over Rafe's dick, refusing him relief. They continued like that until Rafe began to cool off, going limp and languid against Sam's chest. And then Sam urged him back to the blanket, laying him down. He rose and took a moment to enjoy what a pretty picture Rafe made like that, shrugging out of his coat, and shirt.

 

 

Rafe struggled onto his side and managed to push himself up onto his knees and crawled awkwardly to Sam, leaning in to nuzzle at Sam's crotch through his jeans. It was a plea, an offer he sincerely hoped Sam would take him up on. Perhaps if he got Sam off, then the man would let him find release at last. He mouthed at the hard cock through denim, and breathed hotly on it, through the cloth.

Sam chuckled and dropped his hands to unfasten his pants. "Well, well, look at you, taking the initiative for once," he teased, taking his cock out. Rafe bit back on a snide remark and all but inhaled Drake's sizable erection. Sam groaned and pushed a hand through Rafe's hair, staring down at him warmly. "Fuuuuuuck, yes, Rafe..."

Rafe stared up at him, trying to memorize that warmth, that was so much like affection it thrilled and frightened him as he bobbed his head, tongue writhing and flicking against him. With only his mouth, he coaxed some appreaciative groans out of Sam, and before long, those gentle fingers in his hair were gripping handfuls and Sam was fucking his face. He relaxed and took it. The sooner Sam came, so too would he.

And then Sam's cock throbbed against his tongue, then spilt a hot load down his throat, which Rafe struggled to swallow. When Sam pulled out of his mouth, he gasped for air and licked at his lips, trying to catch dribbles of cum.

 

 

Sam dropped to a knee and captured Rafe's chin in his hand, pulling him in for a passionate kiss, tasting himself on Rafe's lips and tongue. Then he eased Rafe back down again, and leaned in and drew his tongue along Rafe's cock.

Rafe arched up, moaning. Sam grinned and took him into his mouth, tongue and hand working in concert to take him apart. He'd already learned just what worked for Rafe at breakfast the day previous, and he pulled out all the stops until Rafe was panting and moaning desperately close once again. And then, he stopped. Rafe's poor swollen dick throbbed in the chill air, spit slick and abandoned. And Rafe wailed, pale eyes locked on Sam, teeth bared like some kind of rabid animal. And goddamn, Sam wanted him so badly, he was sorely tested to dispense with his revenge and take him then and there.

He didn't, of course. On principle, he couldn't. Rafe deserved this, and hell, he was probably loving it. He certainly hadn't demanded Sam stop. So he manhandled him again, pulling Rafe up onto his knees once more, and bending him over. Rafe's ass was so lovely, pale, and round, and on a whim, he gave it a solid, open palmed slap. Sam really didn't have any sort of plan to continue, except the sound that Rafe had made in response to the spank was a delicious squealing moan. He spanked his ass again, and again, until it was pink and warm, then he rubbed it gently, casually reaching for the jar of oil with his other hand. 

Sam lubed up a pair of fingers and slipped them into Rafe's ass in a smooth, easy motion and received a weak moan. Slowly, he began to fuck him with his fingers, this time, scissoring them to stretch him. Then he curled them toward his prostate and spanked Rafe's ass with his other hand at the same time, coaxing a lovely curse from the younger man.

"Yaaaa--FUCK! Samuel... Sam... f-fuuuuuck...."

He stimulated him again. And then Rafe was shifting, trying to ease his legs down, to lay on his stomach. Sam allowed it for the time being, interested to see what the younger man would do. With his fingers still deep in his ass, Sam watched as Rafe began to subtly rock his hips, grinding himself against the blanket.

Sam grunted a soft laugh, and removed his fingers from Rafe's ass, gripping his hip and turning him over. "Ah ahh... Not yet."

Shame and frustration shone in Rafe's pale eyes, suffused his cheeks. "Sam..." he forced out in a harsh whisper, "I need..."

"Tell me what you need," Sam said, gently, watching him.

"To cum..." he breathed.

"What was that? I couldn't hear."

"To cum!" Rafe spat through grit teeth, squeezing his eyes shut.

"No, no, Adler, I need explicit details."

"I'm... going to kill you."

"What?"

"Fucking Christ, Samuel! Just fuck me already!!" Rafe practically sobbed.

 

  
And then Samuel was shuffling out of his jeans, and he stretched out on the blanket, pulling Rafe atop him to stradle his hips. "Let's see you do some work, then." He said, so fucking cocky, but Rafe was so relieved he didn't even care.

He leaned forward, allowing Sam to line his cock up, and then sank down, impaling himself with a slow, noisy moan. He was so far past playing at aloof and cool now. Rafe gulped a shuddering breath, taking a moment to adjust Sam's sizable intrusion. Their eyes met, and he began to ride. A smooth roll of the hips, again and again, had him bouncing up and down Drake's pole, and he moaned and cried out noisily, not even able to hold it back if he wanted to

Sam's eyes were locked on Rafe, he stared at him as though he were everything, with his hands rubbing gently up and down his thighs, then setting on his hips, spreading his ass. He never once touched Rafe's cock, where it bounced heavy and hard against his stomach. And it seemed there was no need, because Rafe had found the right angle, and was working himself closer and closer...

"Hhhhh ohh fuck," Rafe gasped, "I'm --"

"Do it," Sam commanded.

Rafe arched and let out a raw shout as his long awaited climax sizzled through his nerve endings like a lightning bolt, blanking out his mind and vision. He came hard, shooting ropes and ropes of pearly cum across Sam's chest, as his body quivered and shuddered and clamped down on Sam who followed him almost immediately with a "Fuck... yes, Rafe...." Spilling deep inside.

For a long moment, neither of them moved, but for a tremble here and a twitch there, and then ever so slowly, Rafe leaned forward until he settled atop Sam's chest, sweaty, exhausted, and altogether spent. Sam's arms came around him, unfastening the knots and releasing him from the restraints. And then Rafe pushed himself off the man and flopped down beside him.

He felt...overwhelmed by the entire ordeal, and as tears began to slip from his eyes, he turned from Sam and dashed them away with the swipe of a wrist, sniffling softly.

Suddenly, Sam's arms were around him, drawing him close. "You did so good," he whispered praise softly, pressing a kiss into his hair. "You're beautiful, and you were amazing."

At this, Rafe stiffened for a moment, but was too exhausted to offer more than, "I hate you so much, don't ever leave me."

Sam chuckled and kissed his hair, then said, "This is exactly where I wanna be."

 


	7. Epilogue

The first big storm of the following winter raged outside, covering the sleek modern house, and the ruins it overlooked, in a frigid blanket of ice and snow. But inside, it was deliciously warm, safe, and close. Rafe snuggled closer to Samuel under the blanket, lifting a handful of popcorn to stuff into his mouth. Sam's fingertips stroked his shoulder and pulled him closer.  
  
"This is the best part, baby. Watch, watch," he insisted for at least the fourteenth time since the movie started. The Thing, some monster flick from the 1980s, and apparently, one of Samuel's favorites. His taste was...questionable at best, but Rafe was content to cuddle, even though Samuel was wearing those atrocious sweatpants again, and he kept sneaking his cold hands under Rafe's shirt. 

"This is disgusting," he complained, as he had throughout the movie, as often as Sam extolled the merits of the film. Currently on screen, a man's head crawled off his shoulders and skittered down a hall. Rafe loathed it, but he adored how delighted his lover was with the film. Grimacing, he turned his face away from the gory scene, then shivered as Sam ran his warm tongue up his neck, then pulled him into his lap and continued to nuzzle him.  
  
His expression softened. Samuel was being extra affectionate--probably as an apology for the shitty movie--and he happily soaked it up. And when the movie was finally done, Sam suggested they head to bed. He had that look in his eyes, the one that made Rafe hard almost instantly.  
  
  
  
  
  
Sam rolled off of Rafe and stretched out beside him on the fine sheets, uttering a soft, pleased laugh as his hand found and laced fingers with his lover's. It was hard to believe, now, that less than a year ago, they'd been at each other's throats... He shifted on to shoulder and hip so that he could look at Rafe, who was still flushed and basking in the afterglow of their lovemaking.  
  
Fuck, but he was so beautiful. So open and vulnerable, so trusting. Sam was sure no one else had ever seen Rafe like this, and he was right. His fingertips traced the curve of his cheek, blade of his thumb smoothing over slightly parted lips. Rafe's pale eyes slipped closed and then slowly opened again. Drifting over his face, meeting his gaze, soft and out of focus.  
  
Sam was done for. He was completely and absolutely hooked on Rafe. He adored the man and wanted only to protect him and make him feel safe and happy. He felt like he was the only one Rafe would allow to do these things. He'd given Sam a precious gift. His heart. His trust. Keep trusting me, baby, Sam thought, as he leaned in and kissed Rafe's lips. You know I'll take good care of you, I always do, don't I? 

Except that he had to leave, now. With Avery's Cross located at last, it was time to bring Nathan into this. And he knew it would be difficult, getting his brother and Rafe to see eye to eye and work together again, but he felt confident he could make it work. So long as Rafe trusted him. Trusted in his love, that he would return. That everything would be alright.  
  
They cuddled until Rafe's breath slowed, evened out. And then Sam drew the blankets up around him. Rafe always seemed to get cold at night, and Sam wouldn't be here to warm him. A pang of regret thumped in his chest, and he drew his fingers across Rafe's forehead, smoothing a dark lock of hair back. "I love you, baby," he whispered.  
  
"Mmnnnn..." Rafe hummed softly, still very much asleep, though Sam hesitated to be sure. Then he dressed, packed a bag, and left.  
  
The taxi waited silently at the end of the driveway, as he'd instructed. It was a long winding gravel path, now treacherous with snow, and it took time to navigate. Still, halfway down, Sam paused to peer up at the house, at their bedroom window, where Rafe slept peacefully. Sam had never, in his wildest dreams, imagined loving someone so much. Being here with Rafe was the closest thing to home that he'd ever known.  
  
In a month or two, he'd have smoothed things over between Nathan and Rafe, and could return. Their little their family would grow by one, and they could find Avery's treasure together. Sam smiled as imagined just how excited Rafe would be when they did.  
  
A tiny niggling worry at the back of his mind shadowed the fantasy, but he dismissed it as anxiety about seeing Nathan again, and climbed into the taxi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This may be the end of this fic, but the story will continue! I'm already working on a sequel!! I'm super excited about it, and I hope you guys will check it out!!   
> So much love and thanks to everyone who took the time to read this story, and that goes doubly for those of you who encouraged me with comments (shoutout to blxckro<3), or talked me through tangles in the story (lookin' at you KaerWrites and Captnalbatr0ss<3).


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